Dennis's POV
The room was quiet again after Ann's storm. Her words still echoed inside me, fierce and unyielding. She wasn't leaving. No matter what I said, no matter what I feared, she was going to stay.
And the strangest thing was… a part of me felt peace. A fragile peace, like a candle flame trembling in the wind. I wanted to let it burn, to let her warmth fill me.
Yet another part of me… the heavier part… worried endlessly.
What if one day she regretted it?
What if she sat beside me ten years from now, tired of pushing wheelchairs and managing medicines, looking at me with silent resentment?
What if love turned into duty?
She was young. Brilliant. She had dreams of her own. Dreams I didn't want her to bury under my shadow.
I turned my head, catching her still holding my hand. Her fingers were small, strong, trembling, but they didn't let go.
"Ann," I whispered.
She looked up, her eyes red from tears but still blazing with determination. "Yes, Dennis?"
"You… you're really not going to leave, are you?"
Her lips curved into the smallest, saddest smile. "Not in this lifetime. Not in any lifetime."
I closed my eyes, exhaling. "You're too stubborn."
She chuckled softly, brushing my hand against her cheek. "That's why I'm perfect for you."
Her laughter filled me, but the weight on my chest didn't disappear. Instead, it grew heavier.
"Ann," I said again, my voice rough. "If you're going to stay with me, then promise me something."
Ann's POV
His tone made me straighten. It wasn't the voice of defeat anymore—it was something else. Serious, careful, almost protective.
"What is it?" I asked softly.
He looked at me for a long time, his eyes searching mine. "Don't put your life on hold for me."
I frowned. "Dennis…"
"No, listen," he interrupted gently but firmly. "You've finished your studies. You worked so hard. You've always wanted to teach, haven't you? To stand in front of a class, to share knowledge, to be someone's guide? That dream is still yours, Ann. Don't let me steal it from you."
I blinked, surprised. "You're not stealing anything."
He smiled faintly. "I'm not talking about what you're doing now. I'm talking about what you might give up without even realizing. You'll want to stay here, beside me, every second. And though my selfish heart wants that too, I can't let you waste yourself on only my shadow."
The words cut through me— tender and painful at the same time.
"You're asking me to… to take a job?" I whispered.
"Yes." His voice cracked, but he pressed on. "Go become the professor you're meant to be. Live that dream. Shine in that world. I'll still be here, waiting every evening to hear your stories. But don't let your life become just… my hospital room."
Dennis's POV
Her silence scared me. Did she think I was trying to push her away again? That wasn't it. Not this time.
I wanted her to stay. I wanted her beside me. But I also wanted her to live. To grow. To flourish in the sunlight, not wilt in the shadows of my broken body.
"Ann," I whispered, my throat aching. "Please. Promise me you'll do it. Promise me you'll try for a post. That you won't let go of yourself just because of me."
Her eyes filled again, but these were not tears of despair. They shimmered differently—softer, deeper.
"Dennis…" she said, her voice trembling. "Do you know why I wanted to teach?"
I shook my head slightly.
"Because I wanted to give back what life gave me— hope. And do you know where I find my hope?" She leaned closer, pressing my hand to her heart. "Here. With you. Always with you. So if I do take a job, it won't be to escape you. It will be because you believe I can."
Ann's POV
I didn't tell him how afraid I was to leave his side, even for a few hours. How the thought of walking into a classroom while he struggled in therapy made my chest ache. But I saw the plea in his eyes. He wanted me to live, not just survive beside him.
And maybe… maybe he was right.
"Alright," I whispered. "I'll try. For you. For us."
He smiled then, a smile so fragile it broke me all over again. "That's my Ann."
Later that evening, when his parents came in, Dennis surprised them.
"Ma, Dad," he said weakly, "Ann is going to start applying for professor posts."
They looked at each other, stunned. Mother gasped. "But Dennis— she should stay—"
"No," Dennis said firmly, for the first time in weeks. "She should live. She deserves that. And I'll be fine. I'll fight harder knowing she's out there, doing what she loves."
Father's eyes glistened as he placed a hand on his son's shoulder. "I'm proud of you, son."
Mother hugged Ann, whispering, "Take care of yourself, dear. We'll take care of him."
That night, as I sat beside him, Dennis whispered, "You'll stand in a classroom, Ann. You'll wear that smile. And every student will know they're lucky to have you. And I'll be right here… proud, waiting."
I kissed his forehead gently. "And when I come home, I'll tell you everything. You'll be my first student, always."
He laughed softly, and for the first time since the accident, I saw real light in his eyes— not just pain, not just fear, but hope.
And in that moment, I realized: our story wasn't ending. It was only beginning, in a different way than we'd imagined.